I freeze, like that will somehow make me vanish. I’m far enough away that I think she’ll miss me, especially in the dimness of the hallway and with me wearing clothes that don’t exactly make me stand out. But she spots me almost instantly.

I try to keep my heart from leaping out of my chest at the sight of her face breaking out into a grin, and the way her curls bounce wildly as she hurries over and sits down right next to me on the narrow staircase. I’m too aware of the fact that our arms are pressed together and our legs are touching; I’m so distracted that I must miss the first time she says “hey.”

“Nishat?”

“H-hi.” I mumble, looking toward the door and not her.

This is just infatuation. It’s nothing. It means nothing.

“I saw you open the door. How come you didn’t come in?”

I shrug. “There are a lot of people in there.”

“Well, duh. It’s a party.”

When I don’t reply, she heaves a sigh.

“It’s not exactly your type of party, then?”

“I guess not.”

“So what is your type of party?”

I think about it for a moment. I’m not sure if I’ve ever been to my type of party, and really I’m not sure if parties are my thing at all. But if I was going to throw a party there would be real Desi food everywhere. There would be samosas and fuchka and shingara and dal puri and kebabs.

“There would be better food at my type of party,” I say.

She laughs. It’s a small and jittery laugh, but still feels too loud in the empty, dimly lit hallway.

“You’re right. The food here is awful. Though I think there’s talk of pizza, and obviously some birthday cake. There’s even some brigadeiro that I made special for today.” She takes a sip from the plastic cup she’s nursing in her hands.

“Brigadeiro?”

She nods. “It’s a Brazilian dessert. You have to try it. We’re going to have it after we cut the cake.”

“I’m not sure I’ll last that long.”

“You’re thinking about leaving already?” Her eyebrows shoot up. From where I’m sitting—too close to her—I can make out the dark browns of her eyes and the freckles that are almost hidden away.

“I don’t really know a lot of people here.”

“So it’s like me at that wedding.” She smiles. “You kept me company there, I can keep you company here, if you want.” She bumps her knee to mine and it sends a jolt of electricity through me.

“That’s okay … thanks.” My voice must come out drier than I intend it to, because she frowns.

“Is something wrong?” she asks.